Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
It was on an unseasonally lovely sunny day last week that she who must be obeyed ignored left the French doors leading out to the garden open and went upstairs to watch the news. It was a little time later that she thought she saw something grey fluttering in the corridor. She went to investigate and down in the kitchen she found evidence of pigeon poop. Holy moley the scene was one of great hilarity to me. She rushed upstairs impersonating more Muttley than Dastardly and panicking trying to find it. Of course I was in hot pursuit singing 'Catch That Pigeon. She now is in right old two and eight (state) desperate for me not to get it. Drats after searching every room the darn thing had gone out the way it came in. Sadly no pigeon pot pie for supper. Of course peeps was well happy she din't have feathers and blood to clean up. Mind you would have made a nice decorative touch for Halloween.
Have a marvellous Monday all and make time for some mischief.